


Our hearts know deeper seasons than our memories

by semicolonsandsimiles



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Horse Racing, Horses, Post-Canon, but also murder horses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semicolonsandsimiles/pseuds/semicolonsandsimiles
Summary: A year after the events of the book.
Relationships: Puck Connolly/Sean Kendrick
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Our hearts know deeper seasons than our memories

**Puck**

October announces itself dramatically, sending gusts of wind howling through the stable. The sun is still bright, but Finn says the storm that's blowing in will last clear through till day after tomorrow, so I'm making sure Dove and Finndebar have everything they need to wait it out.

George Holly left Finndebar with Sean last year like he said he would, but Corr hasn’t made up his mind whether she’s mate or meal. Sean’s stable at his father’s house isn’t yet built out enough to safely house them both; so for now Corr gets the run of the stables and pasture there and Finndebar stays with us.

Corr did make up his mind about Dove, though, and I think I’m beginning to notice her belly becoming bigger.

Dove nickers a greeting. I turn to find Sean in the doorway. "Everything okay?" He asks, because I'm almost always in the house when he gets here.

"Finn says a storm's coming," I explain. Then, because he's in his shirtsleeves in the biting wind: "Where's your jacket?" 

"Left it inside before I realized you were all the way out here."

"You could've stayed in," I say. "I'll be done in a few minutes."

"Maybe I came for the horses," Sean says. He steps in to feed Dove and Finndebar each half an apple and brushes a hand across my cheek on his way out. It is very cold, which I can tell he knows. "I'll convince Finn we need hot chocolate," he says, and leaves as quietly as he came.

I can smell the hot chocolate before I open the door. Sean is there as soon as I walk in, kissing the back of my neck while he helps me out of my jacket. Finn pretends to ignore us.

"Finn says I better leave soon, or else ride out the storm here," he tells me.

"Oh," I say numbly. I've grown used, over the past few months, to having Sean here for dinner more often than not. And when Sean isn’t here, it’s usually been because we’re spending the long summer evenings at his house on the western cliffs, fixing things up and getting it habitable for humans and horses both. I knew he'd be here less often come autumn - come  _ capaill uisce _ season - but I am unhappy all the same.

"So," Sean begins, then pauses uncharacteristically even though he clearly has more to say.

"So?" I prompt.

"So Finn offered to let me stay, if you're okay with it."

"Of course you can stay," I say, suddenly feeling much more charitable towards the storm. "Corr?"

"Corr is made of storms."

**Sean**

I’ve never had trouble sleeping through storms, but tonight every time I start to drift off I hear the pained scream of a  _ capall _ and startle awake thinking I’m back at Malvern’s. Finally I give up and turn on the bedside lamp, though I’m not sure what good I expect it to do me. A few seconds later, there’s a faint knock on the door.

“Puck?” I say, before it occurs to me that wandering the house during a storm seems more Finn-like. It is Puck, though. She shuts the door behind her and sits next to me, leaning her shoulder against mine.

I close my eyes and rest my hand on Puck’s knee. “Every time I fall asleep,” I tell her, “I start dreaming I’m at Malvern’s during the storm.”

Of course Puck knows which storm I’m talking about. She squeezes my hand and leans more solidly against me. 

“You’re not there,” She says softly, turning her head so her breath brushes my ear. “You’re not there, and Corr is safe. Everyone is safe.”

Puck’s voice helps, as does opening my eyes to look at her. “I don’t know why I can’t get it out of my head tonight.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Puck asks. The words fall out on top of one another, like she needed to say them before she lost her nerve, or like she was waiting to get them out.

Puck’s hair is down, and unruly as ever. I brush it back behind her ear to get the hair out of her eyes and the ear close to my mouth. “Think of the scandal,” I murmur.

Puck turns towards me, pushing hair behind her other ear. “Nobody here to be scandalized except Finn.”

“I was more concerned about your guilty conscience,” I say more seriously. “I don’t want you going to confession on my account.” My own conscience is clear, at least on this count, but I also haven’t been to Mass since before my mother left the island.

“I was thinking of sleeping,” Puck retorts. “What were  _ you _ thinking of, Sean Kendrick?”

“I was thinking of kissing you,” I say, and I do. “But other than that, only of sleeping.”

Puck kisses me again, then scoots further back onto the bed. “I’ve never heard of that being a sin,” She says.

“Then you should stay.”

Puck curls up close to me on the mattress and pulls my arm tight around her waist and I am asleep almost instantly.

**Puck**

When I wake I find we have managed to roll over during the night, so now I am pressed up against Sean’s back. He has pulled my hand to his chest, and I feel his heart beat against the pulse in my wrist.

Sean notices me stirring and pulls my hand up to kiss my wrist. “Sleep okay?” I ask.

“Mmhmm,” Sean says sleepily. He lifts his head and squints towards the window. It is unsurprisingly dark and grey, with barely enough daylight to see by. “I think it’s late.” 

“I don’t think it particularly matters,” I say. “I’m going to see about breakfast.”

Finn gives me a look when he sees me come out of Sean's room. I just give him a look back, because I don't want to be the one who starts this conversation.

"I do know how courting works," is what he says once he realizes I'm waiting for him to say something. "You didn't need to hide it."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, "But I really didn't plan to sleep there."

The teakettle whistles. "In that case, you're just being stupid," Finn informs me as he brews the tea. "There's a bag of cinnamon twists on the counter."

I find the bag of day-old pastries and turn on the oven because Finn insists they’re better rewarmed; he’s become more picky about these things since he started working at Palsson’s. 

Sean joins us by the time the tea is ready, and we all sit companionably in the dim, quiet kitchen while we eat. The rain is sheeting down by the time we finish, and the sound makes everyone lethargic. 

Eventually Finn brings the radio over to the table to tinker with; there’s no hope of picking up a mainland station during this storm, but that’s never stopped him from trying. I work on painting teapots for Dory Maud.

Sean washes the breakfast dishes. When he’s done, he pulls his chair over close to mine and watches me paint for a while.

“I think I could help with that,” He offers.

I try to give him a skeptical look, though it’s hard when he’s watching me so intently. “You know how to paint flowers?”

“No,” Sean admits. “But I think I could do the borders. It looks like you just need a steady hand to keep the lines straight.”

I don’t doubt the steadiness of Sean’s hands. I pass him my paintbrush and the teapot I’m working on. “Give it a try.”

Sean paints neat lines around the rim and foot of the teapot, then studies the ones I’ve finished. “Is there supposed to be a border on the lid?”

“They’re  _ one-of-a-kind limited edition _ ,” I say, mimicking Dory Maud. “They’re not supposed to all be the same.”

Sean starts a border around the lid. I go get another paintbrush.

Two and a half teapots later, we both pause and listen to the sounds outside. A faint wailing cuts through the wind and rain. Sean nods when I glance at him for confirmation;  _ capaill uisce _ are out there somewhere.

“A bit early this year,” He says quietly. 

“I should check on the horses,” I say. I am worried for no reason; we reinforced the stable this summer, and ran a thin strip of iron all the way around the outside. They are possibly safer from the  _ capaill _ than we are.

“What for?” Finn asks, without looking up from his tinkering. I am surprised he heard us at all.

“To make sure the door hasn’t blown open,” I say, though the door has never blown open before. I go to the window and squint toward the stable. It is completely obscured by the storm. 

“I’ll go with you,” Sean says.

Finn looks up from the radio. “The horses are  _ fine _ ,” He says, exasperated. “Dove has more sense than both of you put together.”

“Easily,” Sean agrees. “We’ll just go far enough to check the stable.”

Finn goes back to the radio, ignoring us as we don jackets and raincoats and boots. 

The rain has abated a bit from earlier, but the wind has picked up to compensate. Heading towards the stable faces us directly into it. 

Thankfully I can see the stable clearly after only a minute or so of walking. “It’s shut,” I yell to Sean.

I think I see movement by the far end of the pasture fence. When I turn my head, there is no doubt of it; a sea-storm grey  _ capall uisce _ paces the fence like it’s looking for a way in. I grab Sean’s wrist and point.

“Come back,” Sean yells into my ear, and pulls me back towards the house, in as much of a run as we can manage in the slippery mud.

I can’t help looking back over my shoulder, because if we can see the  _ capall _ it’s surely able to see us. But I no longer see it by the fence, or anywhere in the pasture. Maybe it’s decided it can run faster on the road.

Then we are at the house. Sean pushes me in ahead of him, pulls the door shut against the wind, and latches it. 

“Towels,” Finn says, nodding at the chair with two towels hung over the back. We shed our dripping outerwear and attempt to dry off, but the rain has done a thorough job.

\--

After we are all dry and sitting beside the living room stove playing cards, Finn asks abruptly, “Did you see the  _ capall _ ?”

“Yes,” I say. “Far end of the fence.”

Finn studies his cards for a long time before choosing one to play. Then he looks at Sean. “Are you racing this year?”

Sean doesn’t look up from his own cards. “I haven’t decided. Probably.”

This is news to me, but then it hasn’t occurred to me to ask. I assumed Sean would race. “Why haven’t you decided?”

Sean puts down his cards and looks at me. “I told Malvern I wouldn't ride for him, but that’s a better bet than someone offering fifths at the beach.”

I knew the first part, but hadn’t thought about the second. “I thought you’d catch your own  _ capall _ ,” I say. I feel a bit foolish for not bringing it up sooner. “I guess I didn’t realize how much it costs to feed them.”

“It would be a stretch,” Sean says quietly. He picks his cards back up. I know a lot of Sean’s savings have gone into his house, but Finn is giving him a knowing look that suggests there’s something more I don’t know about.

I shouldn’t be irritated that they are close enough to share a secret that doesn’t include me. So I shove the irritation down and point out what I think is the obvious answer: “Talk to Holly when he gets here.” 

“He’s fascinated by the  _ capaill _ ,” Sean muses. "Doesn’t necessarily mean he’d like to own one."

“I think it's one of his dearest desires,” I say. "And doing business with you is another."

I can’t see Sean’s mouth because of the way he’s holding his cards, but I can tell he’s smiling by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Well.” Sean plays his card. “We’ll see what Mr. Holly thinks.”

\--

Finn hovers by the kitchen window while we make dinner. I think he might be watching for more  _ capaill uisce _ until he announces, “The storm will be over in five or six hours.”

“That’s good then,” I say.

“So I’ll be able to get to Palsson’s early,” Finn continues. He means  _ I won’t be here to make breakfast _ . Since he also gets home earlier than me, this should mean he makes dinner instead; unfortunately breakfast and bread are the only kitchen tasks Finn can be trusted with.

“I guess I’ll be expected at Malvern’s first thing.” Sean is frowning, I know, because he wants to check on Corr before then.

“So take Dove,” I say. “She’ll be itching for a run. Bet you can make it home and then to Malvern’s before I get there.”

“I’m not racing you on a pregnant horse,” Sean retorts. “We’ll get there in our own time.”

\--

I don’t knock on Sean’s door tonight, because it is hanging half open. “I assume this is okay,” I say as I shut the door.

“Bold assumption,” Sean says, but he is smiling his truest smile. It’s not a big smile; the corners of his mouth just turn up and his teeth barely show, but his eyes give him away. 

I cannot help smiling back. “You like my bold assumptions.” I come to sit on the bed next to him, and Sean immediately turns towards me and wraps his hand around the wrist where I wear the ribbon bracelet he gave me at last year’s Races.

“Yes,” is all he says in reply, though his mouth looked like it wanted to form a different word. Then he kisses me, and I decide the other word is not important.

**Sean**

When I wake, Puck is in exactly the same place she was when she fell asleep: half on top of me with her head tucked under my chin. We both shed our shirts last night, and Puck’s skin is warm and comforting against mine.

I lift a hand carefully to brush some of Puck’s hair out of my face, trying not to disturb her, but she stirs anyway.

Puck kisses my collarbone, then lifts her head and gives me an impish smile. “You told me once,” She whispers, “That you weren’t sure happiness could be found on Thisby.”

I’d been thinking of the same moment. “I did say that.” I just hadn’t learned yet where to find it.

“So what do you call this?” Puck asks, and drops her head back down.

I don’t mean to be contrary when I say, “Contentment.” It’s my overwhelming emotion in this moment.

Puck’s quiet laugh against my neck raises goosebumps along my arms. “I think that’s a kind of happiness.”

“I think so,” I agree. I settle my arms around her and we stay content for a few more minutes, until the alarm blares.

Puck is in motion immediately, sliding out of bed and back into her shirt. She pauses in the doorway and looks back at me. “No hurry. I’m just going to let the horses out.”

I should get up and help with the horses, or maybe start breakfast, but if I stay under the covers with my eyes closed I can hold onto that feeling of contentment for a moment longer.

I must stay there longer than I think, because by the time I am dressed and in the kitchen Puck is already standing in front of the stove. She has a spatula in one hand and a comb in the other, and as a result is wielding neither very effectively.

“Let me do something,” I say, holding a hand out. Puck reaches over with her closer hand, which is the one with the comb in it. I take it and start working out the tangles before it registers with Puck that she’s put me in charge of her hair.

“I meant to give you the spatula,” She admits.

“I’m good with this if you are.” Puck shrugs and lets me carry on.

I stop my work when I notice that Puck has gone completely still. “Are you braiding my hair?” She asks.

I don’t think I have ever seen Puck with her hair braided. “I can stop.”

“No.” I can tell there’s more she wants to say, so I wait. There is a long pause before she continues, “Mum and I used to braid each other’s hair. Turns out it’s a lot harder to do your own.”

I step out to the side so I can get a better look at her face, and she turns it to me. “I want you to keep going,” Puck says softly. “I was just remembering.”

So I keep going until the braid is done, and then breakfast is ready. After, I head to the pasture. I find Dove waiting for me at the fence, though she’s more likely looking for another apple than for a ride.

As we approach my house, Corr canters towards us with a gait that makes me wince; it’s clear by how he favors his bad leg that he’s been spending too much time cavorting about while I was away. I hate to shut him up in the stable, but his leg needs the rest.

I go into the house to get what meat I have left for Corr and lock him in the stable with it. He gives me a look of condemnation. “I’ll be back tonight,” I tell him. “You need to stop overdoing it.” He nickers like he’s agreeing, but Corr forgot the whole concept of  _ overdoing it _ as soon as his leg had healed enough to bear his full weight.

\---

Benjamin Malvern is waiting just inside the stables when I arrive. It would be going too far to say Malvern’s a changed man since Mutt died, but he’s a changing man, maybe. He gives me a frown with no real bite behind it and chooses not to comment on my lateness. “Connolly says the  _ capaill uisce _ are here.”

“They are.”

“So if I wanted you to catch me two to four, are there enough men at the stables who would help?”

I frown. “Daly’s the only one I’m certain of.” And then only because he feels obligated. I’d rather have the help of islanders who have captured  _ capaill _ before.

Working with  _ capaill _ is the one thing Malvern won’t require his employees to do, because it’s dangerous for everyone if one person is scared to be there. He scowls. “Well, find a few others you’re certain of and I’ll pay them, I suppose.”

“Cash or fifths?” I can think of one or two who’d jump at the chance for the latter.

Malvern considers. “Anyone wants fifths, send them to me first. Have you reconsidered riding for me?”

“No.”

Malvern nods dourly and waves me on.

I lead Dove towards Corr’s old stall. She stays there on the rare occasions Puck rides her to the stables; it’s empty, for now, and if there’s any lingering  _ uisce _ smell it doesn’t bother her.

Dove’s ears prick forward at the sound of Puck’s voice coming from the stall. She’s telling someone they don’t need to muck out these stalls. I didn’t think Malvern was looking to hire a new stable boy, but he must’ve done, since none of the ones we have dare to venture down here.

The door is cracked open just wide enough that I can see Puck. Pushing it open the rest of the way reveals a scrawny boy who I think must be about ten. Maybe he’s as much as thirteen; I’m not a good judge of children’s ages. The boy is barely as tall as Puck and has red hair just a shade or two darker than hers.

“Actually,” I say, when they turn to look at me. “We do need to get these stalls ready. Be nice if there were more than two people willing to work in them.”

Puck lifts her eyebrows at me. “Is that any way to introduce yourself, Sean Kendrick?” By the way she emphasizes my name, I don’t think she’s scolding me so much as letting the boy know who I am.

“I think so,” I say. “Lets people know what they’re getting into.” This gets another eyebrow raise from Puck. The boy exhales like he was holding a nervous breath.

“This is Calvin,” Puck tells me. She takes Dove’s bridle from me and starts untacking her. “It’s his first day.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kendrick,” Calvin says, very politely. He adds hesitantly, “The other stable boys were talking about you.”

“Everybody talks about me,” I say. It’s not bragging since I mostly wish they wouldn’t. “You can’t believe more than half of it.”

“Three-quarters,” Puck counters. “Talk to Daly if you want Calvin’s help. He’s already got him busy.”

I think through everything that didn’t get done while we were kept away by the storm. “We won’t have time today anyway. I’ll let you know, Calvin.”

He nods vigorously. “Okay.”

Puck frowns at the grooming cloth in her hand. “I should already be out with the yearlings. Calvin, do you want to finish up with Dove for me?”

Calvin looks like he very much does want to. “Mr. Daly said I wasn’t to work with any of the horses yet.”

“Dove’s mine,” Puck tells him. “And I say you can groom her.”

Calvin looks between Puck and me like he wants to ask a question, but apparently he thinks better of it.

“You’re wanted with the yearlings too,” Puck tells me. And everywhere else, probably.

As we walk, I tell her Malvern’s plan for catching his  _ capaill _ . I feel her watching me expectantly after I finish. “What?” I ask finally.

“You aren’t going to ask me to come?” Puck says quietly. “I can tell you want to.”

“I want you to come,” I admit. “But I know how you feel about it. I wasn’t going to ask.”

“What would I do if I came?” If she’s asking that, I think Puck has all but decided to come.

“You wouldn’t have to be all that close to the sea, even,” I say quickly. “We’ll need people to stay farther back on the beach to keep the  _ capaill _ contained once we’ve caught them.”

“That’s not so bad,” Puck decides. “You could have asked.” 

I feel her looking at me again, waiting for a response, so I look back. “Alright,” I acknowledge. “Next time I’ll ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> me: shows up to a fandom 10 years late to write some fluff, and then suddenly there's plot


End file.
